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His Wife And Baby - Poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford

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In the lone place of the leaves,Where they touch the hanging eaves, There sprang a spray of joyous song that sounded sweet and sturdy; And the baby in the bed Raised the shining of his head, And pulled the mother's lids apart to wake and watch the birdie. She kissed lip-dimples sweet, The red soles of his feet, The waving palms that patted hers as wind-blown blossoms wander; He twined her tresses silk Round his neck as white as milk­ 'Now, baby, say what birdie sings upon his green spray yonder.'

'He sings a plenty things­ Just watch him wash his wings!He says Papa will march to-day with drums home through the city. Here, birdie, here's my cup. You drink the milk all up; I'll kiss you, birdie, now you're washed like baby clean and pretty.'

She rose, she sought the skies With the twin joys of her eyes; She sent the strong dove of her soul up through the dawning's glory; She kissed upon her hand The glowing golden bandThat bound the fine scroll of her life and clasped her simple story.